


November 2020 Drabble Challenge

by i_am_still_bb



Series: November 2020 Drabble Challenge [1]
Category: Being Human (UK), Poldark (TV 2015), Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996), The Almighty Johnsons, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 09:27:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 4,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27348883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_still_bb/pseuds/i_am_still_bb
Summary: 1: Crisp Air - Anders/Mitchell (G)2: Memories - Anders/Mitchell (G)3. Tea Time - Darkhawk (G)4. Rainy - Darkhawk (T)5. Carriage Ride - Darkhawk (T)6. Star Gazing - Fili/Kili (T)7. Mysterious - Darkhawk (M)8. A character notices someone watching them - Darkhawk (T)9. Historic - Darkhawk (G)10. Cozy - Fili/Kili (G)11. Shooting Stars - Darkhawk (G)12. Gloomy - Darkhawk (T)13. Cuddling - Anders/Mitchell (T)14. A character breaks a rule - Anders/Mitchell (G)15. Gratefulness - Fili/Kili (G)16. Stellar constellations - Darkhawk (G)
Relationships: Anders Johnson/John Mitchell, Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien), Jim Hawkins/Ross Poldark
Series: November 2020 Drabble Challenge [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019770
Comments: 13
Kudos: 25





	1. crisp air - Anders/Mitchell - G

“Is it always this cold?” Anders turns up the collar of his peacoat and secures it beneath his chin.

“What happened to your sense of adventure, oh, ye olde mighty Scandinavian god?” Mitchell teases. His eyes crinkle in amusement.

Anders raises his eyebrows. “It is back in the hotel. In bed. Which is where we should be.”

Mitchell steps close and fixes Anders’ collar. His own jacket is open and flapping in the brisk North Sea wind. “Need I remind you that you’re the one who wanted to see where _Dracula_ was written?” he asks conversationally.

“I didn’t mean in the depths of an arctic winter.”

Mitchell laughs. 

It isn’t even cold enough to snow. The falling flakes melt before they touch the ground.

“How about this,” Mitchell says winding his fingers between Anders’ and dragging him along, “when we get back to the hotel, I’ll make sure that you are _thoroughly_ warmed enough.”

“I suppose that’ll work.” Anders’ eyes sparkle and he stops resisting Mitchell’s pull.

  
  



	2. memories - Anders/Mitchell - G

_“You do realize that I’m a god, right?” Anders leans against the heavy wooden door that is open to the street. The warm summer breeze laden with rain ruffles his hair._

_“Really?” Mitchell teases. “I hadn’t realized. I think we had better call the whole thing off.”_

_Anders snorts. “Funny. But you do know that I could have married us. On the other side of the world. You wouldn’t have to wear anything at all,” he winks and laughs at Mitchell’s mock scandalized expression. “Though, I must admit, you do clean up nice.”_

_“Does Bragi even_ do _weddings?”_

 _“Of course,” Anders says flippantly. “He_ is _a god after all.”_

_The bell above their heads clangs to life with a reverberation that rolls through the walls and floors of the old church._

_“Ready?” Mitchell asks, reaching for Anders’ hand._

_“If I must.”_

_“It’ll make my old Ma happy, And it’ll make me happy.”_

_“Then let’s do this,” Anders grins and the music starts._

Mitchell starts when a hand finds his.

“You were far away. Where were you?”

Mitchell looks at his husband. “With you. Always with you.” He reaches out and fixes a cowlick in Anders’ silver hair.

Anders smiles. “That’s good. I’d hate to think that you were with someone else while I’m still here.”

Mitchell lifts Anders hand and presses a kiss to it. The platinum band on the hand is scratched and worn just like the one on Mitchell's finger. The thin skin and fragile bones beneath his lips reminds him of Anders’ age and that their time together is drawing to a close.

  
  



	3. tea time - Darkhawk - G

Suez Canal, Egypt, 1956

“Biscuit?” Ross offers the tin to Jim who takes one and passes it on. 

Tea does not taste the same out of metal cups, but it’ll do. The thing that Ross could do without is the sand that finds its way _everywhere._ Even with their makeshift tent offering them some protection from the sun and wind sand sand is still everywhere. It is already starting to cover the carpet that they had thrown down. 

Sand sticks to the sweat on Jim’s bare shoulders when he stretches out on the carpet. His uniform pants pooling around his hips when he draws his knees up.

“You have to admit,” Jim says, opening one eye to peek at Ross, “That the sun is nice. Much better than the constant clouds we’d have back home.”

Ross scrunches his nose and winces at the sting of his sunburn. “I like those clouds, I’ll have you know.”

“That’s only because you end up looking like a shrimp in the sun.” Jim’s chest shakes with his laugh.

Ross kicks some sand in Jim’s direction.

“Hey!” one of the other men protests. He grabs his mug and moves away from Ross and Jim with a frown.

Ross will admit that things could be a lot worse.

  
  



	4. rainy - Darkhawk - T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can be read as part of my _Stitches_ AU.

“Are you really going out in this?” Ross asks from his spot burrowed in the duvet.

Jim pulls on his base layer, “It’s really not that bad,” he says without looking towards the window that had caught Ross’ attention. The rain is coming down in steady sheets.

“I never said that it was bad,” Ross corrects. “I said that it was wet.”

Jim adjusts the skin tight fabric across his upper thighs. He frowns at the window. “It’s not that windy. It’d be a good row.”

“But wet,” Ross says helpfully from the bed.

Jim nods, “True.”

He turns to look at Ross and narrows his eyes in mock skepticism with a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “And I suppose you have an alternative suggestion.”

“I do!” Ross says brightly.

Jim rests his hands on his hips. “I suppose that it involves not heading out.”

Ross settles back on the pillows with his hands linked behind his head. “It does.”

Jim walks to the end of the bed and plants his hands on either side of Ross’ legs. “It probably doesn’t involve leaving this room.”

Ross grins and wiggles his hips.

“Does it involve leaving this bed?” Jim crawls up the bed; settling his knees on either side of Ross’ hips.

“No,” Ross breathes.

“I see,” Jim leans in close and presses a kiss beneath Ross’ ear. He slides a hand beneath the duvet.

He pulls back and looks at Ross at what he finds.

“I see someone planned ahead.”

“Always.” Ross catches Jim around the neck and pulls him into a kiss before flipping them and pinning Jim to the bed. All thoughts of traditional forms of exercise are quickly forgotten.


	5. carriage ride - Darkhawk - T

“Get in,” Ross bites out. His grip tightens on the handle of the carriage door. His gaze is dark and stern. His thunderous appearance is made more so by the dark police uniform that he wears.

The boy crosses his arms across his chest. His shirt billows in the wind that has him squinting. He glowers back at Ross with equal ferocity.

“Mary, Joseph, and Sweet Baby Jesus help me. If you don’t get in the carriage…” Ross snarls.

“You’ll what? Beat me?” The boy growls back. “That doesn’t scare me. I’d rather be beaten than go back.”

Ross starts to speak, but stops. Runaways normally do not put up such a fuss. They generally cow under his glare. They accept that they are caught and they return home with their tails between their legs, only to leg it again some weeks later. What happens in those homes is  _ not his business _ as he has been told often enough by his superiors.

The wind picks up and the boy pulls his shirt more tightly around his chest. This reveals a splash of mottled bruising across the boy’s neck. 

Rage surges through Ross again; at his superiors, at anyone who raised their hand to their children. He makes a flash decision and the rage simmers down, to flare up later at a more appropriate moment.

“Get in,” he says gently. “You won’t be going back to them.”

The boy’s eyes go wide. “What?”

Ross does not repeat himself. He just looks to the open carriage door and the waiting driver. 

Tension bleeds from the boy’s body and he warily approaches the carriage and gets in. Ross tugs his coat off and follows, shutting the door firmly.

Ross drops the coat onto the boy’s lap. He sits and loosens his stock. “I meant it. You won’t be going back.” He looks at the boy. “Ross Poldark,” he holds out his hand.

The boy stares at it for a long moment before looking up, meeting Ross’ gaze, and taking his hand, “Jim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, writing this: "Thanks, Brain, this is really intriguing, do I get to know more?"
> 
> Brain: "No. Only drabble. Nothing else."


	6. star gazing - Fili/Kili - T

“You’re not listening,” Kili whines.

“I am,” Fili insists.

“What did I just say?”

Fili hums. “Something about Jupiter?”

“No!” Kili swats Fili’s thigh. “You’re hopeless! Are you just going to stare at the stars and say that they’re pretty tomorrow?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Kili rolls his eyes. “Hopeless.”

“I’m doing some stargazing of my own,” Fili rumbles against Kili’s skin and presses a kiss to one of Kili’s shoulder freckles. He traces a line with his nose to another freckle, this one is below his shoulder blades—Kili shivers—and presses a kiss there before moving on to another. 

“These,” Fili traces a line on Kili’s lower back with a finger, “look like the Big Bear. And these look like the Big Dog and the Little Dog.” Then Fili traces those lines with his tongue. 


	7. mysterious - Darkhawk - M

The Red Lion is teeming with patrons. Ross has to shove his way to the bar and shout to be heard by the bartender who is less than two feet away. When he finally has a beer in his hand he manages to find a seat near the wall where he drinks his beer in large mouthfuls and watches the crowd. 

He is not sure exactly what is going on. When he enlisted the Red Lion had been a fairly quiet establishment that was mostly frequented by locals and those who wanted a quiet drink and maybe something to eat. But now… Ross looks around the room. It is full of students from the local university and they seemed to be having some sort of costume party. There is entirely too much skin exposed for the temperature of the air outside, but he would guess that none of the young people notice it in their inebriated states.

Several beers later and much brooding later Ross is still watching the students in their writhing mass. Every now and then tempers flare. At one point the owner had even dragged one young man outside and told him to go home before his mouth got him hurt.

“Excuse me,” a brown-haired girl slurs. “What are you supposed to be?”

Ross raises his eyebrows, “What?” sure that in his own state that he’s misheard her, or mistaken her words as meant for him when they were really meant for another.

“Your costume.” She points to his scar and stumbles. She catches herself on his shoulder and giggles. 

Ross rolls his shoulders to dislodge her hand, but she only presses closer. She traces the line of his scar.

He flinches away. 

She steps more fully into his space and he is overly aware of the press of her flesh against the length of his arm and leg. “Are you a pirate?” she breathes against his neck.

“Obviously not,” a warm voice interrupts the girl’s efforts. “He’s a soldier. See the jacket,” the man points out. 

Ross cannot look away from the young man. His  Cernunnos mask covers much of his face; his long golden hair curls around the antlers and falls around his bare shoulders. His chest is bare except for swirls and lines of paint.

He wants to say something, but his mouth has gone dry. It is clearly time for him to leave.

The girl pouts when she sees him staring gape mouthed at the newcomer. The young man’s smile is predatory. 

“I should be leaving,” Ross hastily drains his glass. He sets it down, but almost misses the table in his haste to move around the table and towards the door.

“Leaving so soon?” The young man moves with grace, confidence in his own body, and there is something familiar about it. 

Ross swallows hard. “I…” he starts, but his voice fails him when he meets the young man’s eyes and it does not go unnoticed.

The young man steps close. Ross feels a bit like he is about to faint. His skin is on fire, his head is spinning, and his thoughts are careening out of control only to hit a brick wall.

“You could always stay. Is there nothing here that interests you?” Mischief glints in his eyes. He slips a hand beneath Ross’ shirt to rest on the hard planes of his stomach. 

It takes all of Ross’ strength not to groan and have his knees buckle beneath him. “Fuck.”

Before he can recover the blonde god has his hand and is dragging him up the stairs to the rooms that the owner rents out to visitors. The lock clicks into place before either of them speak again.

Ross feels like he has just run a marathon. His chest is heaving and he cannot catch his breath. 

“Unless you don’t want to?”

Ross nods his head. “I want this,” he says thickly, his blood thrumming madly in his ears.

The kiss is messy and uncoordinated, the young man’s mask gets in the way, but Ross can feels his body only falling more under the spell being cast on it. His whole world narrows to the hands on his skin, the lips on his, and the smooth skin beneath his fingertips as he runs them down the other man’s back to settle on his low back. 

He is so unaware of his surroundings that he is surprised to find himself shirtless, pants open, and sitting on the edge of the bed with the young man kneeling between his legs and pressing open mouthed kisses to Ross’ abdomen. 

“Christ,” Ross swears. He rests his weight on his hands that are pressed into the bed. His head drops back with a gasp.

The young man chuckles, “That’s not my name, but I’ll take it.”

Ross groans as the kisses wander further south.

“What?” he mumbles drunkenly when the physical contact disappears. The young man sits back on his heels to discard his mask. Ross’ breath catches. “Jim?”

“Shush,” Jim says softly, running a hand down Ross’ chest. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He bites Ross’ inner thigh and firmly tugs Ross’ jeans and underwear down. 

Ross does not have any more coherent thoughts until much later. 


	8. a character notices someone watching them - Darkhawk - T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Early sunsets" wasn't working for me so I got an alternative prompt.

“Stop staring at me,” Ross grumbles from where his face is smooshed into his pillow.

Jim smiles, “No.” He traces a line down Ross’ spine from his hairline to the waistband of his underwear. 

Ross makes a noise in protest. He flaps a hand in Jim’s direction. “‘m tired. Leave me alone.”

Jim pulls back the duvet to expose more than just the very top of Ross’ head. He ducks his head and presses a kiss to Ross’ shoulder.

Ross humphs and violently shifts onto his back and pulls the blanket firmly over his face again. 

Jim smiles and shakes his head. He ducks beneath the blanket and worms his ways so that he is draped across Ross, his knees bracketing Ross’ hips, his head on Ross’ chest, and his hands in Ross hair.

“Is this okay?”

Jim takes the quiet rumble as a yes. 

  
  



	9. historic - Darkhawk - G

“What are you doing here?” Ross asks.

Jim stops and turns. 

Ross is lingering in the shadows, his dark tunic, hose, and hood help him blend into the shadows.

Jim glances down the nave to make sure that the cathedral is empty. The only sound is that of his own feet. He grabs Ross by the arm and drags him in the shadows. “You shouldn’t be here!” he hisses. 

Ross looks at the statue that stands in the niche that they are tucked into. “Saint Nicholas, how appropriate.”

“This is no time for jokes.”

Ross pulls his arm from Jim’s grasp. “Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I could help it.”

Jim scowls and stuffs his hands into the sleeves of his tunic. He fingers the rosary that is tucked into one of the pockets. “What do you need?” 

“Just a place to lay low for a while so that the Sheriff does not find me. His search will move on in a day or two.”

Jim sighs and looks to the east end of the church and then back to Ross. “Okay. But you can only stay for one night. I’ll not have my monks put in danger because you cannot keep your hands off the prince’s money.”

Ross’ smile is roguish, “You know it’s for the greater good.”

“I do,” Jim says, “But that doesn't mean I like it.”


	10. cozy - Fili/Kili - G

“Kili?” Fili calls toeing his shoes off. Usually Kili was in the living room, sunk deep into the couch with his laptop balanced on his knees, and watching some true crime television in the early evenings. 

Fili pulls his gym clothes from his duffle and stuffs them into laundry when he passes the bathroom. The kitchen is empty as is the sofa in the family room. Fili pulls out his phone and sends Kili a text. Now he is wondering if he has forgotten something. He hopes that if he did forget something it was something that was only on Kili’s calendar and that Kili was not sitting somewhere waiting impatiently for him.

He passes the bedroom door on his way to the office. 

Kili is curled up on his side, asleep. His phone lays face down near his hand.

Fili smiles. He picks up the blanket from the end of the bed and drapes it over Kili. He starts to tuck the blanket around Kili.

“Fee?” Kili says sleepily raising his head.

“You’re already in bed, sleepy head.”

Kili nods and catches Fili’s hand and pulls. “Cuddles?”

Fili’s eyes crinkle with his smile. “Of course I can give you cuddles.”

He crawls onto the bed and slots himself against Kili. His thighs pressing to Kili’s, Kili’s back against his chest, and Fili’s nose buried in the back of Kili’s neck. He exhales.

“Comfortable?” Fili asks.

Kili nods. He takes Fili’s hand that was resting on his hip and hugs it to his chest, pulling them closer together. 


	11. shooting stars - Darkhawk - G

“See any rebel ships?” Ross asks, coming to stand at Jim’s elbow. He clasps his hands behind his back.

Jim rubs his nose and picks up the hurricane lamp to walk the deck once more. “It’s been quiet. It’s very still.”

They walk shoulder to shoulder.  Ross is in his red jacket and Jim in his navy whites with a heavy blue coat.

Ross looks out at the calm sea. There are no clouds and the dome of the heavens is hung with silver points. His breath catches; no matter how many times he sees the sky like this it always stops him in his tracks. 

Jim sees him stop with his mouth hanging open, leaning back to get a better view. His laugh expels a cloud of breath in the chilled air.

They keep walking. They pause every so often so that Jim can take a good look at the horizons. Everything is quiet and calm.

“Oh!” Jim exhales. 

Ross raises his eyebrows.

“There was a shooting star. Did you see it?”

“No.”

“It was just there,” Jim points. “Maybe there will be another.”

“Are you going to make a wish?” Ross teases.

“Perhaps.”

Ross knows what he would wish for,  and he hopes that Jim wishes for the same.

But there are no more shooting stars.


	12. gloomy - Darkhawk - T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was reading a book about the Spanish Flu before I sat down to write, so this story doesn’t surprise me. 
> 
> **Warning for pandemic themes and illness.**

**October, 1918  
Camp Merritt, New Jersey **

Ross washes his hands for what he could swear is the fiftieth time that day. His hands are cracked and dry. At night when he falls into bed they often bleed. He would apply lotion, but he does not find his cot until well after nine in the evening and he is back up before the sun at five. 

“Captain Poldark?”

Ross turns, running his hand through his hair. He shakes his head to clear some of the fog.

“The next Navy debarkation group is here.”

He sighs. “Are there sick among them?”

The young man nods. 

“Thank you, Sergeant Peterson. Let’s get them in here,” he says wearily.

* * *

That night Ross forces himself to sit at his desk. He pulls out the letter that he had been meaning to write for several days. 

_Dearest J,_

_I feel like this is never going to end. Each week I see hundreds of young men that survived the trenches. They come into the ward and if there are available cots they get those and if not they get a blanket spread on the floor. But still more come. They’re cheerful enough at first laughing with those around them, but before long the virus does its grim work and their faces are blue and they are coughing up blood stained sputum. And in the morning bodies fill our morgue like wood for the coming winter stacked against a house._

_It’s worse than anything I saw in France._

His eyes are drifting shut as he writes the last line. He does not add that their faces haunt his dreams whenever he does get a chance to sleep. 

* * *

The next morning he sucks down the bitter coffee in hopes that it will wake him. 

“Another debarkment group came in overnight,” Sergeant Peterson informs him as soon as he steps foot in the ward.

“How bad is it?”

“There were about fifty men. But more men have been coming in as well.”

“We might as well get started.”

They have been at it for several hours when Ross hears a familiar voice. He does not look up. He had grown used to thinking he heard the voices of friends long before. 

Three “beds” later Ross is confronted with the owner of the voice he thought he had heard. 

“Hello, Captain Poldark,” Jim grins.

Ross freezes. He feels cold. “Lieutenant Hawkins,” he manages. “Why are you here?” he asks even though he knows the answer, but he _hopes_.

“Oh, you know,” Jim starts, but then he is interrupted by a fit of coughing that bends his body in half. Jim pulls the handkerchief away from his mouth with a grimace. “Nothing much.”


	13. cuddling - Anders/Mitchell - T

“You’re heavy,” Anders grumbles and pats Mitchell’s back. The sharp afternoon sunlight permeating the bedroom.

“Mm,” Mitchell hums against Anders’ neck.

Anders squirms and tries to dislodge the practically comatose vampire. “Get off.”

“But you’re soft.” Mitchell nuzzles Anders’ shoulder. “And warm.” 

“And suffocating.”

Mitchell inelegantly rolls off Anders to the middle of the large bed. He makes a noise in protest.

“What?”

“There’s a wet spot,” he whines.

Anders rolls on his side to face Mitchell. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours.”

“Really?”

Mitchell cracks his eyes sleepily. “That’s not fair. You know I can’t control myself around you.”

“Flatterer,” Anders teases.

“It’s true,” Mitchell says on an exhale. 

Anders smiles fondly. “Come here.” He tugs at Mitchell’s waist until they are tangled together again. Mitchell rests his head on Anders’ chest and falls asleep. Anders strokes Mitchell’s hair and catches up on the gossip rags on his phone.


	14. a character breaks a rule - Anders/Mitchell - G

“What are you doing?” Anders drops his keys on the console table and stares at Mitchell.

“What does it look like?” Mitchell holds up a pair of Anders’ white underwear. 

Anders narrows his eyes. “I thought we had agreed to send the laundry out.”

“It’s a needless expense.” Mitchell deftly folds the underwear into a neat square and places it on top of other neat squares. “I am perfectly capable of doing laundry. It makes me feel less like a kept man. Plus, if I have to make eye contact with that poor woman as she tells me how she got all of the blood stains out I might explode.”

“Huh.”

“You’re not going to argue with me?” Mitchell says incredulously.

“No. But I am considering buying you a French maid’s outfit.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

  
  



	15. gratefulness - Fili/Kili - G

Kili gently prods Fili’s shoulder. “Fee?”

Fili groans from his cocoon of blankets.

Kili sits gingerly on the edge of the bed, trying not to jostle Fili. “I brought you soup.”

“Soup.”

Kili nods. “You need help sitting up there, mothman?”

“Not mothman,” Fili grumbles. “Chrysalis. I will be a beautiful, beautiful butterfly.”

“More like a mucus-y butterfly,” Kili snarks back and knocks the used tissues off the bed and onto the floor.

“Still beautiful,” Fili protests as he laboriously extracts himself from the blankets and lifts himself into an upright position. His cheeks are rosy, his hair mussed, and his eyes are watery and rimmed in red.

“Still beautiful,” Kili agrees.

Fili grunts and takes the soup from Kili’s hands.

He eats it slowly as Kili chatters about what happened at work.

“Kili.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” Fili offers a half smile that melts Kili’s heart.

“No problem,” Kili grins back, “My beautiful mucus butterfly.”


	16. stellar constellations - Darkhawk - G

Ross scowls out at the wine dark sea. Jim is late. He looks over his shoulder only to be met with the deepening shadows creep across the long seagrass.

“Took you long enough,” he snaps when Jim finally does appear with his light hair sticking out wildly beneath his tricorn hat.

Jim does not rise to the bait. He removes his hat, and flips his coat’s tails when he sits down on the ground next to Ross. He carefully paces his hat to the side and kindly says, “Some of us don’t live a life of luxury in our parent’s houses.”

Ross snorts. “I’m not a child!”

“I never said you were,” Jim says gently. “But you are young and a lot more is moving and about in the world than you are aware.”

Ross turns. His knees are drawn up and now he tucks his bare feet beneath Jim’s thighs. “Then tell me!”

“Maybe some other time.” Jim picks up his hat again and dusts it off with an efficient movement. “I have something else to tell you.” 

Jim can feel Ross’ consternated expression without looking at him.

“The Hispaniola is leaving tomorrow with the tide.”

Ross makes a noise that Jim does not want to classify.

“I know,” He says. “I thought there was more time, Ross.”

“And you’re leaving on it, aren’t you?” Ross’ voice is laced with the betrayal of the young.

Jim sighs. “I have to. I signed a contract. Backing out would be a bad idea.”

Ross huffs and turns away from Jim.

“What if I teach you more about the constellations? Then you’ll see what I’m seeing and you’ll know what I’m looking for until I come back.”

Ross says nothing, but neither does he protest. 

Jim begins talking and pointing to stars and Ross, forgetting his anger and betrayal after several minutes sits in rapt attention. His shoulder pressed to Jim's.


End file.
